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I am UmberDove.

And by that, I mean an artist.  One who hears stories in the wind, who paints because it is what her soul tells her to do, who smiths because the muse moves through her fingertips, who loves nothing more than the promise of an unexplored trail, the sound of the ocean in her ears, and scent of a serious cup of coffee.

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Filtering by Category: "Mme. Bookling"

A Day in the Life of the Dove: Mme. Bookling Comes to Town

UmberDove

[A photographic account of a single day in my life, wherein old friends made merry in new towns and three, count them, THREE restaurants heard the peals of our laughter.]

- Saturday May14th 2011 - 

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Dear Bloggity-Blogger

UmberDove

Mme. Bookling and The Saint have come to play.
My dearest of the dear came to play.  I took a hiatus.  I wanted to tell you about it, but between our internet flying the coop and you hiccuping along last week, I think we missed each other.  Anyways, I'll be back.
Cheers,
~ Umber

UmberDove

parslip
Bent
Above
Swing
Squint
When the marine layer breaks

Today
The house feels quiet and slow, like stretching toes into warm sand.
I'm eating pita chips and the last cold dregs of breakfast tea, wearing the comfiest pants I own.
The haphazard composition of empty avocado shell, used knife, pointed tomato stems and dirty cutting board still on the counter from breakfast pleases my eye.
The cats had a fight, scaring me and littering the grass outside with tuffs of orange and brown hair.
I've been looking at the photos I took when SHE was here, thinking about that long walk through wide fields, the way the fog rolled in over our heads, the sunlight becoming surreal, the way we spoke of noticing the small things, the minute details, of being so intentional.  And how bad we needed to pee while still three miles out from the house.

*****
I had a vision a couple days ago, a vision of the painting sort.  I had to set my other paintings aside, slice off a huge swatch of fabric and stretch a new canvas that day.  It's coming along, a dangerous sort of beauty, gray and undulating and I can hear it calling my name all the way from the studio.  I think I'll pop the kettle on, mix up a fresh pot of tea and answer.

Post-Bloggy Break (that I forgot to mention...)

UmberDove

Ciao Bellas e Bellos!

Well I'm afraid you'll just have to forgive me for the unannounced week-off of the interwebs but I've had the best excuse:
The Mme. came to play.

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As you can well imagine, there has been a flurry of chatter, an innumerable number of latt├ęs, more glasses of wine than I have fingers (or desire) to count, incredible conversations on what it is to be an artist, on the condition of human existence (and the beautiful simplicity of capturing moments in photography), the hardship of not owning certain Channel tights or certain Anthropologie arm chairs, the funny squeak that my laugh has developed and scandalous giggles at our shared irreverence.

 Above all, there has been a swelling of my heart to be in the company of one of my favorite women in all the earth.

Plus, we bought matching construction-worker-orange cardigans and teal striped knee-socks.  Because now that we are no longer neighbors separated by a measly 112 feet, we can justify buying the exact same clothes.

year of mornings

bookstore

artists

Coffee, cafes, and Candaces

It's been a break for my head and for my heart, 'cause there is nothing, NOTHING in this world like the balm of a good friend.

And now, off to dine and dip in the Finnish hot tubs (for the second time this week).  Cheerio!